


Jareth X Reader – Slipping Away

by writeyouin



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Reader-Insert, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 07:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyouin/pseuds/writeyouin
Summary: Request - You're Jareth's betrothed. A masquerade is held on the eve of your wedding, but a jealous Fae woman poisons you with sleeping potion. You collapse in Jareth's arms & the woman's arrested, taunting him. If he can't find the cure before the stroke of 13 on the 13th day, you'll die. He goes nearly mad slaving over books & traveling everywhere, desperate to save you. On the last day, he finds the cure & you wake up confused, but Jareth's so relieved he holds you tight & cries into your shoulder.





	Jareth X Reader – Slipping Away

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – Fun fact, Sluagh are part of Irish folklore, I didn’t make them up. They’re the spirits of the restless dead, sometimes viewed as fae with no loyalty, reason or mercy, doomed to wander the Earth in hordes.

Extravagance. It was the only word that could be used to describe the tremendous scene before you. The once crumbling pillars of an ancient temple now supported growths of creeping plants. Without a roof, the moon bathed everyone in its peaceful beams, illuminating the iridescently divine forms of fae dancers, celebrating your wedding to Jareth; unlike human weddings, the fae celebrated beforehand, claiming the wedding night was intended only for the newlyweds.

You stood at what would have been the entrance in a time long past, taking steadying breaths and trying to remember your exact instructions from Jareth’s previous tutoring. The fae had a very complex social hierarchy which you had to adhere to if they were to accept you as the future spouse to their king. You stood at the start of a long glistening silver carpet that led to two thrones, one for Jareth and the other for you. On the carpet were woven depictions of black and gold blooms. Your job was to step only on the tiny golden blooms which represented a fortuitous life; stepping on the black blooms would supposedly condemn your marriage to the evil spirits of the Sluagh, souls of the sinful humans trapped between the borders of the fae and human realm.

After the walk down the aisle or rather the ‘ _Dance of Blossoms,_ ’ as the fae called it, you were to wait in front of your throne for Jareth to stand with you, signalling you were worthy of his attention, then a drink of Vinum Aeternum would be brought forward in two heavy silver chalices. You and Jareth would have your hands bound in golden silk and you would feed Jareth his drink first without spilling a drop, then he yours. After that, the two of you would finally be able to sit or take part in the festivities at your leisure.

The whole affair seemed far too complicated to you, but it was imperative you succeeded, otherwise the wedding would not proceed. Naturally, you’d practiced for this moment, but the practice had never been a complete success. From your left, a delicate bell rang and though you weren’t sure how the entire temple heard it, they all stopped, forming two perfectly straight lines on either side of the carpet to watch you complete the ‘ _Dance of Blossoms_.’

Feeling nauseated, you began your journey, wobbling several times, though you regained your balance as you forged on, no doubt ungraceful in comparison to the fae of the past who had completed the journey. You ignored the hawk-like eyes of the spectators, some of whom looked like they wanted you to fail their king; instead, you found solace in Jareth’s unwavering gaze as you made your way to him.

Finally, you made it to the end of the aisle, where you dropped to your knees for Jareth’s inspection. He rose dramatically, circling you gracefully as was his role. Gently, he grasped your forearms, pulling you to your feet and ‘ _accepting_ ’ you for the kingdom to see.

“You did well,” He whispered so nobody else would hear.

Although the praise itself was small, it emboldened you, quelling your previous fears. Neither of you said anything else as your hands were bound in their silk manacles by the high priestess. Taking a step back, the priestess waited for another fae woman to step forward, delivering the wine. As she poured the drinks you held back a gasp for it looked like liquid starlight.

Passing you your chalice, the fae waited whilst you held it to Jareth’s lips with shaking hands; it was much heavier than the ones you’d used in practice. Through the sheer intensity of his gaze, Jareth willed you to be okay until he had sipped the last of his wine. You set your chalice down on a tray the server held and waited in trepidation for Jareth’s turn. Jareth’s lips quirked up in a small smile, just another tiny sign that he was eager to be wedded. You found it funny how such a small action could speak volumes of his personality, for it wasn’t that long ago that you couldn’t decipher him at all; it seemed that everything the fae did was either a huge explosion over a small emotion or the smallest of reactions to their more intense feelings.

Gracefully, Jareth took the chalice that was presented to him, holding it up for you to sip. The second the liquid met your lips, you knew something was wrong. You didn’t know what the wine was supposed to taste like, but the acrid flavour that met your tongue was all wrong, and everything in your body knew it. With a pained cry, you fell backwards, losing consciousness.

Jareth dropped his goblet, moving with inhuman speed to catch you, even with his bound hands. Using his magic, he freed himself of the ties and, reaching out with his mind, he summoned the court healer. The healer appeared in less than a second, suspending you in the air so you were levitating at her waist height. Every time Jareth tried to ask what he could do, she shushed him and waved him away, even as the crowd watched on.

While the fae healer set about using the arcane arts, Jareth turned to the onlookers with such fury, the very ground shook.

“WHO DID THIS?!” He demanded, using gales of wind to carry his words across the entire Underground, distorting it to sound like that of a Wraith or some equally disturbing beast. He needn’t have shouted so far for there was only one smiling face amidst a sea of grim and fearful expressions.

Jareth pointed accusingly at a hag, not at all beautiful like the other fae. It was clearly a guise and one used only to show contempt or disrespect. Although it was well within Jareth’s power to strip the hag of her guise, he offered her one chance; it was not an act of mercy, but of power, aimed to show that he was in command. “SHOW YOUR TRUE FORM FOUL CREATURE, SO I MAY PUNISH THE REAL YOU.”

Despite her old, leathery face, the hag hadn’t bothered to change her true, melodious voice; it was one that would have made the very birds stop singing so they could hear its beauty. “Why, my king, do you not recognise me? Was it not your cruelties that bade me to be hideous before thee?”

“SPEAK NOT IN THE OLD TONGUE WENCH!” Jareth cried, though by now he knew her true name for such a voice could not be mistaken. Everyone knew of the Witch of the Wastes, Desdemona. Once Jareth’s lover, Desdemona committed the worst crime any fae could do against another; adultery. Such heartbreak would have killed any other fae, but that was how Desdemona found that Jareth did not truly love her as he had tried to for many centuries. The sheer fact she was willing to let him die to prove her theory only enraged him further.

As punishment to her crime, Jareth created a special prison in the Labyrinth for her. An oubliette wherein she could see any event she wanted outside, but never interact with it; at the time, it amused him greatly to show her that she’d inspired an Aboveground play by the Medium, William Shakespeare. Now however, Jareth cared not for foolish trifles, only to know how she had escaped her gilded cage.

“How did you escape wench?”

“Oh, please my sweet. Let us not forget the old pet names we once used, was I not once your peach as your new betrothed is now?”

Jareth flinched as if struck, an ominous air encompassing him, filled with the unknown. When he did not answer, Desdemona sighed, shucking her disguise to reveal beauty enough to rival Aphrodite herself. Skin as dark as the blackest night, a plump figure so luxurious even the Abovegrounders would make it a fashion again if they saw her instead of their emaciated models. Her hair, a mix of black and gold was woven into magnificent braids, making the gold look like the very stars themselves had lowered themselves from the night sky to kiss her. Even the filthy rags she wore for her guise could not do anything to dampen her beauty.

“You are not as fun as you used to be, my sweet.”

“Still your tongue for I am not yours to be claimed. My heart belongs to another and yours is a shrivelled piece of coal, if it even exists. Tell me how you escaped,” Jareth demanded, though he no longer shouted, he didn’t need to for he had more power under a mere whisper than he ever would with a thunderous tone.

“Escaped? No, no, no. I was freed by those who are no longer bedazzled by you as I used to be. You are not so popular as you used to be, my sweet. Marrying a human will be your undoing.”

“Name the cretins who betrayed me, so they may suffer the same fate as you Witch,” Jareth sneered. He knew Desdemona well. She was powerful, maybe enough to match him in combat, but she was also vain and arrogant. If he could stroke her ego long enough under the pretences of listening to her, he could finish the spell he was silently weaving to finish her off, once and for all. He was under no impression that she wasn’t also doing the same, hoping to avoid a long, tiresome duel, but if he could finish his spell first, there wouldn’t be anything more to worry about.

Desdemona chuckled, “And give you my only subjects? I think not Jareth. It would not be fitting. Ah,” she looked past him to the healer caring for you. “You’re wasting your healer’s time, my sweet. That poison is from the bark of the Belger Tree. There is no cure.”

The ground shook in an Earthquake even more ferocious than the last at Jareth’s fury, and all the fae before him, except for Desdemona were sent sprawling to the ground. He hadn’t meant to do that and it distracted him momentarily from his spell, wasting precious seconds. However, he couldn’t help his despair. The Belger tree had once been a fae, poisoned by the one she was betrothed to. Instead of dying from the poison, the fae woman Belger lived and grew hateful, then fearing that she would have her heart broken again, she cut it out, using her last moments to bury it deep in the soil. The still-beating heart bore a mighty black tree, caught between life and death. It always grew, yet never bloomed and anything that touched it was destined to die. No doubt, to get such a vile poison as its bark, Desdemona had been very careful indeed.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jareth abandoned his spell and bellowed a single word, “ **BALOR!** ”

Forgetting any previous grace, Desdemona rushed at him, throwing him to the floor and clamping her hand to his mouth. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU FOOL?! YOU CANNOT SUMMON THE DEMON KING! HE’LL KILL US ALL!”

Desdemona’s warnings were too late however. From the sky came a tornado of shrieking wind that would challenge any banshee. The world fell silent again as Balor stepped out from the tornado, letting it die into nothingness. Balor was a giant among the fae. A God of Death, he wore warped armour, made of the hardened bodies of his victims. Fortunately, he kept one of his flaming red eyes shut, for it was well known that whenever he opened both eyes, everything before him died.

With a blast of quick magic, Jareth threw Desdemona off him, summoning manacles to bind her arms, though they would not last for long. Speaking with reverence befitting the God, Jareth bowed, “Balor, on the day of my wedding I have committed a great injustice to you. I did not invite you to approve of the festivities. Therefore, I present you with a gift. The Witch of the Wastes, Desdemona.”

Desdemona screamed loudly, trying to break free of her manacles, but Jareth ignored her, talking all the faster. “Do with her what you please. Feed off her magic, kill her, toy with her, whatever you wish, for she is yours. Do you accept my gift Demon King?”

Balor’s eye narrowed sharply and for one short moment, Jareth was afraid he was going to open his other eye. Instead, he stomped over to Desdemona, saying nothing as he grabbed her bound hands and dragged her to the centre of the temple. Desdemona kicked and screamed, shouting curses born of terror. Her screams were soon drowned out by another shrieking whirlwind that carried Balor back to his realm.

Free of any further distractions, Jareth ran to your side, looking into the Healer’s wise eyes that held centuries of knowledge. “Is it possible to-”

The healer shook her head, cutting him off with an ancient voice that sounded odd coming from her perfectly young body. “The best I can do is keep (Y/N) stable and in the land of good dreams until (s)he passes to the great beyond.”

“Do so then, until I find a cure.”

“My king, there are only thirteen days until that happens. Best to spend the remaining days treasuring your love.”

“Please,” Jareth begged, not daring to order the healer around for she was revered by all the fae.

The healer bowed, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

* * *

Jareth threw another old tome against the wall of his study, watching as some of the pages fell out on its journey to the floor. Nine days gone, and he was no closer to finding a cure to your ailments than before. He couldn’t even enter your dreams to at least tell you he was searching because the poison that was slowly killing you would infect him as well, or so the nameless healer told him.

Turning away from his books, he receded into the depths of his mind, viewing everywhere in the Underground at once. He had to think of something, for he would go crazy if he didn’t. Finally, he screamed in anguish, despairing that the Underground had nothing to show him that might help.

Raving mad, Jareth transformed into his owl form, flying through an open window and setting out on a journey to the Belger tree; if he couldn’t save you then he could join you in your fate by touching the tree’s bark. However, he would first make sure nobody shared your and his fate again. Before he let the tree kill him, he would destroy it, saving a piece of its bark to take back so he might die by your side.

Too weak to teleport after his constant efforts to find a cure, Jareth resolved himself to the flight. It took him two whole days to reach the tree and in that time he had an idea; it was desperate and probably doomed to failure, but an idea nonetheless.

Soaring down to the long abandoned dessert of the ancient ones, Jareth landed in the sand before the imposing Belgar tree, careful not to touch the monumental roots which had grown so large, they stuck out from the sand in multiple places. Instead of destroying the hateful tree like he had planned, Jareth transformed into his usual fae self and did something he had never done before in his long life. He kneeled.

“Oh, great Belgar, I Jareth the Goblin King kneel before you so that I may plead your aid. Just like you, I was wronged by an old lover and now I need you to give me an antidote to your very bark, for without it, my one true love will die.”

Nothing happened and Jareth squeezed his eyes tightly shut so he didn’t cry before his quest was over.

“ _Please,_ ” He whispered.

He waited an age before he was graced with an answer. The tree lifted some of its roots from the ground, weaving them together to form the image of a fae. The branches hissed when they moved to move her mouth, “Why should I save your love when no-one protected me from mine?”

Although Jareth would have normally argued, he was humbled by the Belgar tree’s ethereal power which washed over him even before she spoke. “I have no reason that you should help me.”

“Then let me rest young one.”

“But-” Jareth choked out, finally crying from days of pent up fear and exhaustion. “But if you do not help me, does that not make you as bad as the one who betrayed you?”

The tree-woman roared, summoning more branches to make her larger in size, so she dwarfed Jareth. “DO NOT PRESUME TO LECTURE ME ON MORALS! YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF THE CENTURIES OF TORMENT I HAVE SUFFERED!”

“No,” Jareth agreed, bowing his head, “But if you don’t help me now, I’ll soon learn, for I will be just like you; I would sooner cut out my heart than lose (Y/N). (S)he is my everything.”

“How do I know if I give you my cure that you won’t simply hide it away so nobody else may have it?” The tree-fae lamented mournfully.

“You would not, but is it not better to help someone than spend more time suffering? This may well be your one chance to save yourself from more pain, and if not… Well, I for one would not forget your generosity.”

The tree was silent for a long time, and Jareth feared he’d lost her audience. Finally, the tree-woman reached out a hand, holding out a single fragile flower. It had pale-blue petals shaped like teardrops and looked so frail, it could die any moment. “This flower took me ten-thousand years to grow. If anything will cure your love, it is this. Take it and be gone, young one. I do not wish to be disturbed again. Leave me to my long rest.”

Careful to only touch the flower, Jareth took the blossom, bowing deeply to thank the Belgar tree who promptly disassembled its humanoid form, returning to the way it had been before. Placing the flower in a protective orb, Jareth transformed once again into a barn owl and took off into the night sky, flying faster than he’d ever gone before, hoping he would make it back to you in time.

As a fae who’d spent most of his life pitting people against time itself, Jareth felt the cruel irony of his own plight; he was painfully aware of each second that passed, leading closer to your demise.

He didn’t go back to his study, instead he headed to his chambers, where you were resting on the bed, tended to by the healer. Instead of flying through an open window as he had when he left, he crashed through the closed one, bleeding heavily in his owl form, but only lightly when he transformed back to his usual form.

“(Y/N),” He ran to your side, clutching your deathly cold hand in his free one, for the other still held the bloom in its orb. “How fares (s)he?”

The healer shook her head, “You only have minutes, my liege. Spend them wisely.”

Jareth shoved the orb at the healer, “No, not minutes. I have eternity. That is the cure we need. Please, find some way to administer it, and quickly.”

Although the wizened healer would have loved more time to examine the curious plant which she could feel the power emanating from, there wasn’t time as the clock above the bed started chiming thirteen. Chanting a few short words, the healer turned he plant into liquid, using its protective orb as a cup. Placing the cup to your lips, she forced the liquid down your throat, then stepped back and waited.

Jareth held one of your hands tightly in both of his, waiting for you to do or say anything that would inform him you were well. As the clock chimed its last bell, Jareth drew you towards him, sobbing into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” He cried. “I should have done more, I should have been better.”

“I do,” You mumbled tiredly, causing Jareth to freeze.

The healer smiled knowingly, excusing herself silently for what would no doubt be a tearful reunion.

“(Y/N)?” Jareth whispered.

“I will marry you, I do,” You groaned, half-dreaming. Slowly, you opened your eyes, coming face to face with Jareth. “Why’re you here? Weren’t you on the um, the… the fancy chair?”

Exhausted and over-emotional from a lack of sleep, Jareth clung to you, breaking down into a flood of tears.

“Okay…” You said, still confused on what was a dream and what was reality. “I’m sorry I forgot it was called a throne, but is it really worth crying over?”

With a reassuring squeeze, Jareth whimpered, “I love you, so much. You are my heart.”

Rubbing his back comfortingly, you smiled hazily, “And you are mine.”

Later on, Jareth explained everything that had happened during the time after your wedding. Despite requesting an audience with the Belgar tree to thank her for her gift to you, Jareth refused to take you, remembering his promise to leave the tree alone. He did however check on the tree through his mirrors and what he found made him smile. For the first time ever, the Belgar tree had a covering of lush purple leaves like those of a weeping willow, complementing her beautiful black bark; it was the most beautiful thing Jareth had ever seen, and he made sure to never forget it.


End file.
